


Happy Wednesday

by Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-14
Updated: 2007-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:32:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney mumbled invective into his bowl of Athosian porridge at breakfast. John could barely hear it over the comm system--which was blasting out Whitney Houston power ballads at a volume even John thought was obscene at this hour of the morning--but he knew it was there, and he knew that what Rodney was saying couldn't be complimentary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Wednesday

Rodney mumbled invective into his bowl of Athosian porridge at breakfast. John could barely hear it over the comm system—which was blasting out Whitney Houston power ballads at a volume even John thought was obscene at this hour of the morning—but he knew it was there, and he knew that what Rodney was saying couldn't be complimentary.

He managed to hustle Rodney out of the room before he could make good on his threats to dismantle every speaker he could find, to hunt down the tech responsible and make them rue the day they purchased a copy of _World's Greatest Love Songs, IV_; a mistake, as John soon discovered, because someone had configured the lights in the corridor which led from the mess to the labs to glow faintly pink.

Rodney narrowed his eyes, the tinted light haloing his head, making him look like some bizarre, avenging anti-Cupid. "Clearly," he hissed, "_Some people_ on the science staff don't feel that I'm providing them with enough of a challenge in the work place," and stalked off.

John winced. He was suddenly glad that the only things on his schedule that morning were paperwork and having the snot kicked out of him by Teyla.

There were barbed comments from Rodney at lunch, when Elizabeth made a practised little speech about the significance of the day, Classical fertility festivals and Chaucerian love birds and the importance of expressing caring for colleagues and friends in an open manner. There was definite eye-rolling by the time she invited people to share their memories of past Valentine's Days, even more so when Sergeant Blythe managed only a few choked words about his ex-girlfriend, Brandine, before he burst into tears.

"It was like she could see into my _soul_, man," he hiccuped damply into Teyla's shoulder. John thought that maybe Teyla was learning how to roll her eyes like that from Rodney. The effect was—disturbing.

By the time dinner rolled around, John thought he might have near mutiny on his hands. The line of Rodney's jaw was set and tight from the time he walked into the mess; John swore he could hear teeth grinding while Cadman and some of the other Marines went around the room handing out paper hearts and anonymous love notes, each scrap of paper accompanied by chalky, heart-shaped candies and various kinds of doughy pink pastries.

"Why are they dressed like Cupids?" he said, with the kind of calculated volume and tone to his voice that John knew he used when he actually wanted to be overheard, not when he was just being, well, _Rodney_. "Surely _winged monkeys_ would be more appropriate?"

"Not a fan of the holiday, huh?" John said, snagging some of the pastries from the basket being carried by a passing Marine.

"It's a testament to your intelligence, Colonel, that you have realised that so quickly. And at only, hrm, twelve hours after I first noted that Celine Dion songs have in fact been connected to auditory problems, especially when she's screeching about the power of love or whatever maudlin sentiment Hallmark has decided to sell to a gullible public this year. Has nothing I've said previously on the subject gotten through to you?"

"Thought you were being subtle," John said, carefully bland even when Rodney made a noise which was remarkably like an enraged squeak.

"Because that is a quality for which I am _known_," Rodney said once he had recovered the power of speech; there were two spots of colour high over his cheekbones.

"Nah," John said, "There are some I know better," and he reached over to press one of his cupcakes into Rodney's open palm, placing it so that Rodney could see the heart etched in pink icing on top of the chocolate frosting.

"Oh," Rodney said, and the colour in his cheeks spread quickly, the kind of fully, deep flush John saw on his face rarely. "I, um. Thank you. That is."

"Happy Wednesday to you too," John said—and stole the frosting from Rodney's cupcake.


End file.
